


The Short Side of Eternity

by wanderlustt



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, Time Travel, babies!! claudeleth babies!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustt/pseuds/wanderlustt
Summary: Byleth shows Jeralt the future he never gets to see.--//--Claude lights up. “So what should I call you? Dad? Father? Pops? It would be pops now, huh. Never really took on the formalities from Fodlan, if we’re being honest here."Jeralt is unable to hide his disdain. “He talks a lot.”





	The Short Side of Eternity

“The future treating you well, kid?” 

Byleth blushes. It’s the first time Jeralt’s ever seen her blush, and it’s enough to make him pause. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says and sips his tea.

They sit in the darkness of a dimension far, far away. Far away from Garreg Mach, and even farther away from that redhaired bitch with the comically impractical carving knife. It’s such a silly-looking weapon he almost musters up a laugh but stops short when he realizes it’s the same knife that’ll kill him in moments to come.

He wonders, of course, if any of this is real, if the Byleth before him is real, if he’s really here, drinking tea and eating pastries, or if this is just another figment of the imagination in death’s aftermath.

“Would you like to see?”

Again, he pauses; he’s been pausing more than usual. “Yes.” Given the grim circumstances of their meeting, he decides to cut himself some slack. “Yes,” he repeats and clears his throat loudly, as to cover up his pathetic echo that’s divorced somewhere between desperation and self-loathing.

A smile. “Okay.”

Byleth’s voice is softer now, perhaps a little wiser. He doesn’t remember it being so soft, but it’s enough to elicit the faintest smile on his face. So much of her is unfamiliar and new to him: her hair is longer, tamer, and _green_. Goodness, it’s so green it’s almost _glowing._

And she’s tanner. Skinnier, too. It gives him a funny feeling, knowing her softness is probably a big indicator she’s hung up her sword.

And her dress! How could he forget her dress? He’s never seen her in a dress before, and yet there she is, robed in drapes of white like some ancient Helenian beauty he’s only ever seen painted on unearthed relics and statues in the mausoleum. Yes, of course, every father thinks their kid is beautiful, but goodness, she _truly_, truly is a beauty.

He finds it hard to look at her without feeling guilty. There's so much he wants to say, but all he can muster up is: “You look a lot happier now. It’s a good look.”

A throwaway comment for a throwaway man. Jeralt finds it hard to admit he’s jealous of whoever is making her smile so much nowadays; it’s even harder to admit he’s being petty.  
  
Before he can utter an apology for sounding bitter and sullen, she turns the hands of time. 

* * *

She takes him to an unfamiliar palace: illustrious domed buildings painted the most brilliant shades of gold and green, a council chamber covered in hand-woven carpets, and a skylight pouring sunshine like a waterfall from the ceiling. 

“Almyra?” Jeralt is impressed, though unsurprised. “Strange to say, but it suits you well.”

Byleth leads him down the hall until they reach the library, stacked with shelves of books and old vestiges of a time lost. “Really? I think so too.”

There’s a man standing in the center of the room, pouring over open books and old scrolls on an open table. He’s older than Jeralt remembers, with whiskers of gray nestled in that thick head of black hair. Handsomer, too. From a purely superficial standpoint, Jeralt gets it. That smile can fool anyone if they’re not careful, lending credence to the whole tall, dark, and mysterious thing he has going on.

“So you and the Riegan kid, huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

Byleth blushes again -- Jeralt doesn’t think he’ll get tired of seeing her blush like that -- and she ushers him to the table. “Always thought you’d end up with his royal highness himself. Dimitri, was it? You two were joined at the hips at the academy. Suppose you decided on a different path.”

She gives him a look before crossing the space to give her husband a kiss on the cheek.

Claude smiles, drapes his hands on the small of her back, and gets just a little bit too touchy when his fingers wriggle towards the waistband of her robes. “Nice to have you back,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her neck, her collarbone…

Jeralt clears his throat and Byleth swats away her husband’s prying hands.

Realization dawns on Claude. “_Ah_, right. Is he…here?”

Byleth nods, eagerly, tugging him by the hand until they’re standing face-to-face in the center of the hall. Claude darts his eyes this way and that, unsure where to look. At the least, Jeralt sees he’s still taller than the royal brat. He’s not sure why but it makes him stand a little straighter.

“Claude von Riegan, leader of Almyra.” Byleth smiles. “And my husband.”

Claude takes the cue, that boyish charm still his only saving grace as he laughs nervously at the empty space before him. “Sorry I didn’t get the chance to ask for your blessing before I married your daughter…”

Jeralt shrugs. He’s never really been one to follow convention.

Byleth translates for him: “He says it’s fine.”

At this, Claude lights up, smile breaking wide on his face. “So what should I call you? Dad? Father? _Pops_? It _would_ be pops now, huh. Never really took on the formalities from Fodlan, if we’re being honest here. Anyway, I’m glad to see you again, even if I can’t…well, actually see you.”

Jeralt is unable to hide his disdain. “He talks a lot.”

Byleth looks at her father, then reverently back at her husband. “He says he’s glad to see you too.”

Something dawns on Claude; there’s a twinkle in his eye, none too different than the look he gets when he comes upon some serendipitous epiphany. “We should introduce him to Cyrus and Leila.”

Jeralt arches a brow. “Cyrus and Leila?”

Byleth looks apprehensive, but nods in agreement. She takes Jeralt’s wispy ghost of a hand and pulls him towards the throne room, which is lined in brilliant emerald greens and golds.

There are two kids -- a boy and a girl, no more than four -- sitting on the floor playing with clay figurines in the shape of wyvern lords and pegasus knights. They’re black-haired, tan, and terribly cute, so much so that it melts even Jeralt’s ice-cold heart.

Cyrus succeeds in tackling Claude to the ground, making him laugh and groan. “Jeez, you’re getting too big for that. You might knock me out for good one day.”

“Ha! Daddy’s a weakling!”

“Weakling? I'll have you know historians will call your father one of the greatest wartime tacticians across Fodlan, the Adrestian Sea, and Almy--"

"Blah blah blah! No one cares about that stuff except you, dad. And we all know mom did all the work!"

Leila, whose gaze rests on Jeralt, hides behind Byleth’s legs. Her eyes are startlingly green and she doesn’t smile or laugh the way her brother does. “Who’s that?” She asks, quietly.

“That’s your grandpa.” Byleth ushers her forward. “Say hello now.”

“Hi,” she says.

Jeralt reaches out to push back her long black locks of hair, only for his hand to fall straight through her. Leila loses interest quickly and returns to her figurines scattered on the floor.

Claude’s laughter is enough to distract Jeralt from the futility of his predicament. The Almyran king picks up his son and props him on his shoulders, pretending to be a wyvern.

“Never thought I’d see the day I’d become a grandfather.” Jeralt knows, of course, that this day shouldn’t exist and feels a pit in his stomach that doesn’t go away. Technically, he isn’t a grandfather, not according to the hands of time anyway. “Guess there’s a first for everything.” 

Byleth looks at him. “We have a third along the way.”

“Oh yeah?” Jeralt looks at her belly, but there’s no sign of showing yet. He wants to be there for the birth but knows that’s asking too much. “You know the gender yet?”

A hopeful, “No.”

“You want a boy or girl?”

“Claude wants a boy. Says it gives him the tactical advantage.” 

He breezes past her with Cyrus shrieking with laughter. “Hey! I said either one would be a pleasant _and_ welcome surprise.” 

Jeralt feels sorry, suddenly, for not bestowing Byleth any siblings to play with. He thought it was wrong for him to marry again, not while he was still sore about his late wife, but maybe it was wrong of him to not think of Byleth to begin with. 

“I should get going,” he says, quietly. “Can’t run from fate forever.” 

Leila doesn’t look up from her figurines but manages to wave in his direction. “Bye, grandpa. See you.” 

He smiles just a smidgen. "Bye, Leila."

* * *

It's not raining yet, and the pain in Jeralt's back is just beginning to settle in, but Byleth is holding onto him so tight he thinks he might burst. He has time to kill before the death knell, so he begins to rattle off casual insincerities, hoping to fill the empty void between them now that he's finally returned to his time. “Leonie…how is she doing?” 

“Good. Married. Very married, actually.” Byleth tries to stop the tears from slipping. “To Lorenz.”

The thought startles him, but he can’t say he’s surprised. The next words take just a bit more strain and care to get out. “And Alois?”

“Still the same. Punnier than ever.” 

It’s a good thing to hear. Jeralt feels more relieved than he expects. “You’ve got yourself a big family,” he says, after a breathy stretch of silence to regather his strength. “A lot bigger than ours.” 

Byleth squeezes his hand, as if to remind him he’s still alive. “You were all the family I ever needed."

He comes to a startling realization that tears have escaped him. “Funny. I was going to say the same.”

Rain begins to fall.

He puts a hand on her head and ruffles her hair. He decides he can do her one better; after everything he’s put her through, he owes her this much. “You were the best thing to ever happen to me, Byleth.”

The surprise on her face...now, there's something even Claude von Riegan can't get out of her.

“I miss you,” she says, squeezing his hand one last time. “Every day, I do.”

Jeralt closes his eyes and dies with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> i know the ~divine pulse, but make it fashion~ concept isn't new, but taking jeralt to the future was always something i wanted to try. i'm not thrilled with how this turned out but it is what it is! ✿◠‿◠ (also very gratuitous but i love the idea of baby riegans running amuck & causing chaos heh)
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wanderlu5tt)!


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